Unpacking forgotten, I spent a lot of yesterday sitting on the window seat in the upstairs bedroom, watching. The birds, the wind rustling in the trees of the garden and woodland beyond. The stream, rushing purposefully through the garden and under the road, the ducks floating on the part which opens up into a pond further down hill.
Turning round and looking the other way I can see woodland, forest even, stretching steeply uphill to the moorland beyond. Birds of prey circle above the treeline, bringing to mind the Enchanted Forest.
The weather changes faster here, or perhaps it is only that I notice it more. The days are growing ever longer. Sunshine just touches the top of the house today, when it didn’t on Tuesday. It was light until 5.20pm. The clouds scud over faster; a hail storm batters the windows furiously for 5 or so minutes. And then as fast as it arrives it is gone. And the birds come back out and peace is restored.
Husband returns from London tonight. It is the first time since his trip to Burgundy last October that we have been separated like this since we were married. I scurry round, trying to finish the unpacking. A joke, of course, it isn’t done, far from it. I have surprised myself this week. Enjoyed my peace and quiet. Spent far too much time doing absolutely nothing. Went out for lunch today. Chatted to old ladies who remembered my name. Drank coffee in the sunshine. Chose library books. Bought a bird feeder. And now, washing. Clothes. And then a bath. And then, finally, collecting my husband.